


In a Tub, in a Car, Up Against the Mini-Bar

by Jennifer-Oksana (JenniferOksana)



Category: 30 Rock
Genre: Banter, Comedy, Drinking, F/M, Sex Is Fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-13 20:51:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5716669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenniferOksana/pseuds/Jennifer-Oksana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why is Jack the only guy to think of such an awesome game? Why has Liz never thought of this game?</p>
            </blockquote>





	In a Tub, in a Car, Up Against the Mini-Bar

It would take too long to explain how the conversation had gone from Jenna’s newly-discovered love of Stim-Tacs to Liz’s inability to have casual sex. Needless to say, the conversation had found its way there.

“Lemon, have you ever just had sex for the fun of having it?” Jack asks, looking appalled. “It’s not always about finding the one you love or becoming intimate to improve a relationship or what-have-you. It’s about…”

“Please don’t explain any more,” Liz says, holding up a hand. “I don’t think I could handle whatever you’re going to ruin with the metaphor of what fun sex is like. Also, it will depress me because I don’t think I’m capable of sex for fun.”

Jack frowns. “That’s nonsense,” he says. “We’re going to find you a fun lover, Lemon.”

He is clearly thinking about this. Too hard. He is thinking about Liz having fun sex too hard. Liz doesn’t want anyone thinking this hard about her having sex, because that’s gross. Which she points out.

Jack gives her the _Lemon, you naive bastard_ look. “All right, I see that you have a point that your neuroses would make you unable to simply pick up a man for fun sex,” he says. “So how do we cross the hurdle?”

“Get me drunk?” Liz suggests snippily.

“No, that’s not enough, but there is a good bottle of wine that’s the grown-up sister of what you drink over there, so help yourself,” Jack says absently, starting to pace. “I’ve licked worse problems than this.”

Liz starts to laugh, because he said lick. “Thanks for making me feel hot, by the way,” she adds.

“Any time,” Jack says absently, tapping his finger against his head. “Any time, Lemon.”

* * *

Despite the addition of copious amounts of booze and old episodes of Seinfeld-Vision that he’s really bummed about not getting on TV, Jack hasn’t gotten anywhere with the problem an hour later. Liz could have told him so.

Actually, she had. Four times.

“Not all of us like sex like that,” Liz reiterates.

“Like what, Lemon?” Jack asks. “Like a drunk sorority girl? Are you comparing me to a sorority girl now?”

He starts to giggle. Liz shakes her head and shakes her finger, too. Somehow they are now both on the floor next to his grown-up man-boy office furniture and sometime during Jack’s thoughts, Liz started doing shots of tequila and lost her shoes.

“Yes, I am comparing you to a sorority girl. Because you are a _fucking_ giggly drunk,” Liz announces, very proud of herself. “You decide the fate of networks and you are an I’m so drunk drunk. And that is shameful.”

“And _you_ are a drunk dialer,” Jack replies. “There’s nothing worse than a drunk dialer, Lemon.”

Liz does not agree with this. “Nuh-uh. There are things far worse than drunk dialers,” she says.

“Name three,” Jack replies.

“People who leave, like, three drops of orange juice in the bottle so they don’t have to replace it,” Liz says.

Jack concedes the point. “That’s one.”

Liz shrugs. “I don’t have to justify my ways to a giggly lady drunk,” she decides. “Sarah Silverman is also worse than drunk dialing.”

Jack giggles again, seriously. “I cannot stand her voice,” he says. “And the disingenuity, Lemon, it’s not funny.”

“Except the fucking Matt Damon song, that was hilarious,” Liz says. “But yeah, it’s so true. I could do her act.”

She gets up — it’s pretty hard. Liz stumbles and bumps the coffee table the first time, which spills some of her tequila shot that she needs to do at some point. But she’s up, and Liz is now smirking the Sarah Silverman smirk, and puts her hands on an air guitar.

“It’s so hard to be a slut sometimes,” Liz says in her squeakiest voice. “I one time got a callus on my clitoris from masturbating. And it looked freaksome, like Frankenstein’s monster, and that’s why I only date fat guys now, because they’re not picky. I’m writing a song about it. It’s called Too Fat to Be Choosy.”

Jack keeps giggling, but now he’s choking, he’s doing it so hard. Liz thinks that’s adorable, so she sidles up to him and smiles brightly.

“Sir, you aren’t really fat, but you’ve got a little of the middle-aged paunch going on,” Liz adds, leaning forward over Jack. “I think I might be a little turned on by you.”

“I am far more attractive than Jimmy Kimmel,” Jack says, looking at her. “And you’re funnier and more attractive than his overexposed girlfriend.”

“Jim has another girlfriend?” Liz asks stupidly. “Oh! Oh, I was hitting on you as Sarah, wasn’t I?”

Jack rolls his eyes. “As Sarah,” he says dryly. “And that’s why your breasts are at approximately eye level now?”

Liz looks down, and sure enough, there are her breasts, and they are a little bit in Jack’s face. “Oh. Yeah, seriously, Liz. What? Crazy,” she announces. “Hey, are you ogling my boobs?”

“Yes, I am,” Jack says. Liz crosses her eyes at him and sneers. “Still looking at them.”

She leans more forward because gravity is catching up with old Liz Lemon, and then she trips and falls on top of him. Jack manages to catch her and prevent them from doing a header into the corner of the table. Liz has her fingernails dug into his arm and his hand is on her ass and they are all pushed up against each other.

“Are we gonna kiss now, or am I still too icky for you to contemplate fucking?” Liz asks, mouth really close to Jack’s. She could bite him if she wanted. She wants to bite him.

“God, Lemon, you hold a grudge,” Jack says. Now she wants to bite him more, and see if he likes it. What? She shouldn’t care what he likes! Her brain is betraying her due to alcohol and sexual frustration.

“You called me ugly,” Liz says. “Why should I want to have sex with you?”

He leans forward and kisses her, warm and smelling like alcohol and subtle rich guy cologne. And Liz is meeting him more than halfway, because oh, vlergherg, it feels good. But she can’t just give in to Jack Donaghy. He’s old. He’s a Republican. He’s pulling her lip between his teeth, teasing it and she’s going to take a second to moan now.

“Because you will like it and I will like it and we will have fun doing it,” Jack says, nuzzling her jaw.

“Okay, that. Yes. I agree,” Liz says, feeling melty and giddy. “I like you. Just so you know. Even when you are a douchebag, you make me get up and stop eating emo ham sandwich and I can’t hate you. And you smell good.”

Jack laughs. “I never thought you were ugly,” he says. “In fact, I’ve often thought it might be pleasant to…” he actually sucks on her earlobe and then blows on it, and _holy fucking god_ Liz just shrieks and starts trembling. “Wow.”

Wow. Oh, wow.

“Do it again,” Liz says, wide-eyed. He does. She cannot stop making that little noise, holding on tight because he’s making her go wobbly. “That is _amazing_. I didn’t know I did that.”

“We need to find all those spots,” Jack says, with the biggest shit-eating grin. “It’s tonight’s game. Where are Liz Lemon’s screaming spots?”

That sounds like the best game Liz has ever heard of, even if it’s Jack’s idea. More guys should play that game. Why is Jack the only guy to think of such an awesome game? Why has Liz never thought of this game?

“If we find mine, we have to find yours. I am not going to hear you brag about how you know there are seven different spots on my body that will make me convulse like a cheap prostitute without having SOME insurance against you,” Liz says, thinking about it a little harder. “Plus, I bet you have freaky ones. Like…I don’t know.”

Liz leans forward and flicks her tongue against the tip of her nose.

Jack has no reaction.

Oh, well. There is a lot of him, and he’s already eyeing her cleavage like he knows that she’s got a really sensitive under-boob that he’s going to molest until she loses the game.

And both of his hands are on her back, so Liz pulls one away from her back and toward her face before dipping her head and biting on the part next to the thumb.

Jack groans. “I have always admired that stubborn streak,” he gasps. “And I knew you bit. I knew it. Score one for me.”

“One to one,” Liz says smugly. “I think we may need to strip soon.”

He grabs her cardigan and pulls. The buttons pop.

“You’re buying me a new one,” Liz says.

“Good,” Jack says. “I’ll buy you one that isn’t from Target.”

“No,” Liz says, seizing his tie briefly while pulling off her shirt. “You have to buy me two identical ones from Target now, mister.”

“I’m going to buy you a nice sweater from Nordstrom, and you will love it–” he takes a moment to stroke her bared arm, which is nice but not a sweet spot, “And it will kill you a little inside because I know you.”

“It’s going to kill you more when I get ahead three to one because you’re too busy bragging about how good you are,” Liz answers, already halfway done with his shirt and taking a second to nuzzle against his neck and feel a little shiver when she gets close to the bottom of his throat.

Liz decides to kiss there, and maybe by kiss she means lick, but either way, Jack groans and starts undoing her bra.

Two to one, advantage Lemon.

* * *

Jack wins, because there are apparently sixteen places on Liz that will make her scream, and three that send the serious, almost-an-orgasm shudder through her. Jack only has nine sweet spots that she found before they gave up and had sex sex.

Not for lack of trying. But apparently Liz has a bunch of under-explored hot spots that no man has bothered trying to find. Which is kind of sad. Jack found _sixteen_ in one night, and they were just messing around.

She’s wearing his shirt and he has his undershirt and boxers on, and they’re still laughing about something. It’s one am. They are both going to be _fucked_ in the morning.

Liz does not care.

“I bet this is how stoners feel after some really good weed,” Liz says, tilting her head back and miming taking a drag from a cigarette. “Or Kenneth after a mocha latte.”

“Yes,” Jack says, wearing his thoughtful face. “I had you classed wrong, Lemon. I thought you were fairly vanilla in your tastes, but there’s definitely…”

“Ja-aack,” Liz sighs. “No diagnosis. I feel like I do all the things my doctor tells me to do, and you won the game, so just relax, OK? You don’t need to have a heart attack for me.”

“Stop that,” Jack says.

“Stop what?” Liz asks, sleepy.

“Stop giving me reasons to want to bundle us back to my apartment in a car and play another round in the morning,” Jack says. “Duh.”

Liz chuckles because Jack’s Valley Girl accent is way too convincing from a middle-aged New Yorker.

“OK,” she says. “I’m just maybe going to sleep in my office or something anyway and pretend that I was too lame to go home.”

“Nobody will believe you,” Jack warns. “You’re glowing, and you have an enormous hickey on your right breast.”

Liz rests her head on her shoulder, eyes closed, and flips Jack off idly. “I told you, don’t do that, Donaghy,” she says. “You owe me two cardigans, a pair of panties, and a piece of the red velvet cake from Starbuck’s now.”

“Screw it,” Jack says, standing up and offering Liz a hand up. “Put on your skirt. We’re going back to my place.”

“Really?” Liz asks.

“Really,” Jack says.

Well, okay then. He probably has a nice bed, and if she’s not sleeping there, his couch is probably nicer than her bed, and man, Liz is relaxed right now.

She leans against him as they start to collect their clothes. “I lost my shoes,” Liz whispers as they find her skirt and his pants and oh, her bra is missing, too. No, it’s on the desk. Jack snags it and stuffs it in his coat pocket as they amble out.

“I’ll carry you into the cab if need be,” Jack promises.

There is something very important Liz is forgetting to say. Oh, yeah.

“Did we have fun?” Liz asks as they head down toward the lobby.

“I certainly did,” Jack says. “You?”

“Yes, sir,” Liz says. “But you still owe me cake.”

That’s right. He still does.

 


End file.
